


SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone, Part V: A Map for the Future

by PJPaz



Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Mandalorian, Planet Korriban | Moraband (Star Wars), Planet Nal Hutta (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJPaz/pseuds/PJPaz
Summary: Part Five. On Nal Hutta, the home world of the Hutts, a bounty hunter courts the favor of a crime lord to gain entry into the Great Hunt... but finds his path converging with a mysterious pirate who has made her way into the Hutt's inner circle.  Meanwhile, Sith acolyte Reyenna Desme begins the last of her deadly Trials - but her treacherous overseer has made sure that the odds are very much against her...
Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821745
Kudos: 2





	1. "You Must Be Willing to Do Anything"

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction series is an attempt to combine all eight of the class stories from EA/Bioware's "Star Wars: The Old Republic" into a single narrative. I am doing this without particular regard for official canon or timelines – My goal is not to create a definitive article, but simply to fashion the best overarching story I can from the parts Bioware already created. Those who have played the game will observe changes from the source material.
> 
> This series directly follows the story/stories of the game itself… So consider that a spoiler warning if you haven’t played it. Though I have endeavored not to directly transcribe anything from Wookiepiedia, this work remains indebted to that site for background lore referenced within the story. Further, much material is directly re-used from "Star Wars: The Old Republic" and its ancillary material. That said, I will not bind myself to either the “correct lore” or the exact characters and events of the game if it conflicts with what I regard as the best direction for my story.
> 
> There won’t be any particular schedule for updates, as this project is being done “for fun” around other work and projects. Each update, when it is posted, will be treated as if it was an “episode” of an ongoing series – When an update appears, it will have its own internal narrative structure, so each update will have a degree of resolution in itself.
> 
> The standard disclaimers apply: All Star Wars material is property of Walt Disney and Lucasfilm. Star Wars: The Old Republic is a property of BioWare and EA. This is all just for fun; no copyright infringement is intended.

A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY…

STAR WARS

The Old Republic – Episode Five

A MAP FOR THE FUTURE

While the SITH EMPIRE and the GALACTIC

REPUBLIC continue to scheme against

each other, a bloody contest rages in the

frontier systems: THE GREAT HUNT!

Mercenaries from across the galaxy

compete for the privilege of entering this

dangerous manhunt, where they must

capture or eliminate the galaxy’s most

dangerous and elusive targets.

In the polluted swamps of HUTTA, a veteran

bounty hunter is determined to secure an

invitation to this deadly struggle for

fortune and glory…

His name was Vexx, and he was the quickest draw in the galaxy. He had won Corellia’s planetary quick-draw competition five times running, which had garnered him fame and attention. There had even been a holo-biography about him. It had starred Haldor Gennix, the Alderaanian duelist-turned-actor.

But Vexx had wanted more. Vexx had deserved more. So he had put a crew together and turned his skills to robbery. Vexx was a patriot, so he chose Imperial targets only. Over the past year, he had robbed fifteen Imperial pay stations. When Imperials had resisted, he had gunned them down. When the wiser ones surrendered, he had made them strip to their skivvies, then had placed pig masks over their faces and made them pose with him for holos.

The stunt had made Vexx into something of a folk hero for the Republic. There were even plans for another holovid. He had held multiple holocalls with Gennix, who was pressing to be present for the next robbery to help him “get into character.” Vexx was resistant to that, for two reasons: First, the actor might easily behave stupidly under pressure; and second, even if he didn’t behave stupidly, he might steal some of the credit. And all the credit belonged to Vexx.

He had spent the last week on Nar Shadaa, enjoying the diversions available on the Hutt-controlled moon: gambling, pod racing, and other activities. But he had wanted more, and had heard that true arena fights – battles to the death – occurred on Nal Hutta, the Hutt homeworld. So he had come to place some bets. Maybe even participate, if the mood struck him.

That was how Vexx ended up standing here, at Hutta’s Jiguuna Spaceport, at the point of a Zabrak bounty hunter’s blaster.

He tried to brace out the situation with bravado. He grinned at the Zabrak. “Never thought I’d see the day dashing Vexx would get cornered."

The Zabrak didn’t smile.

“I’m not sure ‘dashing’ is the word you’re looking for,” he said. “Empire has 100,000 credits on you, dead or alive. Be smart – Make it ‘alive.’ ”

Vexx laughed. “Do you know who Vexx is? Vexx is the galaxy’s greatest quick-draw artist. Vexx can shoot your ears off so fast, you won’t even hear yourself scream!”

“Vexx talks too much.”

Those were the last words ever heard by the quick-draw artist turned criminal folk hero. The bounty hunter fired his blaster, point blank into Vexx’s face.

A young woman’s voice sounded in the bounty hunter’s earpiece.

“Did you have to shoot him in the face, Zarek?” she asked. “It might delay identification.”

“I’ll take his hands along with his head,” Zarek replied. “The fingerprint check’ll only take an instant.”

“They’ll still delay payment until the bio-match comes in.”

“The pay’s not the point, Mako. Within two hours, all of Hutta will know that Zarek Voss took down the notorious Vexx. That oughta be enough for Braden to get me in with Nem’ro the Hutt.”

“Fair enough,” Mako said. “Still, you have to admit – The 100,000 is a nice bonus.”

“Won’t argue with that.”

Mako signed off. Zarek looked down at Vexx’s corpse, sighed heavily.

“This is the part of the job I really hate,” he said aloud, pulling a vibro-blade from his belt and kneeling to begin the process of taking his trophies for identification.

***

Mako was right, of course. Though the Imperial paymaster and her staff offered enthusiastic thanks once Vexx’s fingerprints were matched, actual payment would have to wait for a bio-match – a minimum of 48 hours, for a bounty. Zarek provided his account information, so that the credits would be transferred automatically once it cleared. Payment would come. The Empire was efficient in such matters.

More importantly, the paymaster’s staff would tell all their friends that the notorious Vexx was dead. He had little doubt that the news was already spreading by the time he returned to Braden’s room at the Poison Pit Cantina.

Braden greeted him on his return.

“See?” the old man beamed to his two crew members. “I told you he was Great Hunt material!”

“I would have enjoyed being there,” Jory complained. A large Nikto warrior, sitting on the sidelines did not come naturally to him. But the goal was to impress Nem’ro the Hutt – and Zarek taking Vexx down alone was more impressive.

“You’ll see plenty of action once we’re in the Hunt,” Zarek assured him. “I didn’t stay alive this long by being a glory hound. Besides, Mako did the real work by telling me when his shuttle was landing. The rest was just showing up on time.”

Mako was a young human woman with cybernetic enhancements. She had worked for Braden for years, ever since the old bounty hunter had found her on Nar Shadaa. Her cybernetics and her own natural abilities made her an expert slicer. Braden called her a “genius,” and said there was no computer system in the galaxy she couldn’t get into. As far as Zarek could see, this was not an exaggeration.

“I’ve been monitoring Imperial channels, and the Empire is impressed,” Mako said. “Which means Nem’ro should be impressed.”

Zarek grunted. “I hate Hutts,” he said.

“Who doesn’t?” Braden agreed. “But only two groups get into The Hunt: The Mandolorian elite and those bounty hunters sponsored by influential crime lords. In this sector of the galaxy, that means Nem’ro.”

“Will this be enough to get me in?” Zarek asked.

“I’ve got you a meeting with Nem’ro tonight,” Braden told him. “At Nem’ro’s Palace.” The Hutt’s ego apparently required that his fortress of hedonism carry his name. “Be on your best behavior. If he sees any sign of weakness, then we lose our one shot at this.”

Zarek pointed to his red, horned face. “Does anything about this mug say, ‘Weak,’ to you? I don’t like Hutts. But trust me, I know how to deal with them.”

***

Nem’ro’s Palace was all but impossible to miss. It was by far the largest building in the city of Jiguuna, and the most fortified. Nem’ro had built it right next to the spaceport, creating maximum convenience for his guests – and for assassinations of any unwanted visitors.

Zarek was met by Karrels Javis, a middle-aged human who looked like he had once been heavily muscled, but had allowed most of that muscle to run to fat. Javis greeted Zarek and laid out the protocols for his meeting with Nem'ro.

“Stay at least five meters back,” Javis instructed. “Come up when you’re called, but not before. One wrong move, and you’ll be a pile of ash.”

“Worried I’m going to cause trouble?” Zarek asked.

“Just going over the rules. We don’t want any problems, now, do we?”

They entered Nem’ro’s audience chamber. The enormous, slug-like Hutt rested on a pedestal at the center of the room. A pair of scantily clad women, one Twi’lek and one human, sat at the edge of the pedestal. A Twi’lek male stood at the Hutt’s side. An adviser, though from the shifty expression on his face Zarek wouldn’t have taken his advice on which boots to wear.

As Zarek approached, he saw that Nem’ro was meeting with a striking young blonde woman, who carried a crate in her arms. She was human, but like Mako she had cybernetic implants. The most visible was just above her left eyebrow – silver in color, so that it looked almost like an accessory. 

“So the Red Blade finally comes to visit the House of Nem’ro,” the Hutt said in its guttural tongue. “A great honor for us both.”

The blonde woman gave a slight bow in response.

“ _That’s_ the Red Blade?” Zarek whispered. Javis’s only reply was to shush him.

The Red Blade was a notorious pirate, whose ruthlessness was matched only by his enigmatic nature. _Her_ enigmatic nature, apparently. The Blade hit both Imperial and Republic targets with apparent impunity, and never left behind a trace of identity.

“Let us see if the legends of the Blade’s generosity are true,” Nem’ro said. “What have you brought me and my clan?”

“Mere trinkets, mighty Nem’ro.”

Nem’ro seemed disappointed. “Trinkets are of no interest.”

The Twi’lek took the crate and opened it impatiently. He was taken aback by the contents.

“Show me,” Nem’ro demanded.

The Twi’lek pulled items from the crate. The Red Blade’s gifts included aurodium idols, Tomuon wool Hutt robes, and Tarul wine from Naboo. Zarek would have had to deliver at least six bounties equal to Vexx to have a chance at affording these “trinkets.”

Nem’ro laughed with delight.

“You are impressive, Blade. You may conduct your dealings on Hutta with my approval. My associate, Karrels Javis, will show you to your guest quarters.”

The Red Blade bowed again. “I’m very grateful. You’ve got quite a place here.”

As Javis led her out of the room, she noticed Zarek and flashed a warm smile. His gaze followed her as she made her exit.

Nem’ro beckoned Zarek forward.

“I see you have an eye for beauty as well as for prey,” the Hutt announced. “Though I suspect the Red Blade might prove too great a match for you, bounty hunter.” The Hutt spread his tiny, slug-like arms wide, beckoning to the palace around him. “You stand in the court of Nem’ro. All you see in this city is under my authority. Welcome.”

Zarek did not bow.

“So,” he said. “Now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, what say we talk business?”

Nem’ro laughed. “Straight to the point, is it? Then I will return the favor. You seek sponsorship in The Great Hunt. I can provide that. But why should I?”

“Your man Javis said I had a reputation,” Zarek replied. “You’re a Hutt. You don’t need me to tell you what it would be worth to be sponsor the winner of The Great Hunt.”

“Big words,” the Hutt replied. “But maybe you just got lucky with Vexx. We will see if you really are the fearsome manhunter your reputation says. I have targets here on Hutta that need eliminating. No problem for one with your reported skills.”

Nem’ro leaned forward. “Tell me, bounty hunter. How much do you know of what is happening on Hutta?”

“I only just got here,” Zarek said. “You tell me.”

“The upstart Fa’athra lays claim to things that are mine. He moves against my factories, sends his scum to make trouble in Jiguuna. Some fools think Fa’athra is becoming a stronger Hutt than Nem’ro. One of them is my ex-accountant, Yalt. He now works for Fa’athra at the factory in the Rust Yards. He must die for his betrayal!”

“So you want me to bring you his head?”

“No.” The Hutt grinned – an expression of pure, loathsome venality. “I want you to deliver it to the cantina. Yalt’s wife works there. She encouraged his disloyalty. Deliver the head to her.”

Zarek could not disguise his disgust at the assignment. Nem’ro’s grin simply grew broader.

“You want into The Great Hunt, yes? Then you must be willing to do _anything_.”

Zarek swallowed his disgust and bowed, bracing his ears against the corruption that was the Hutt’s laughter.

***

He was directed to Juda, Nem’ro’s Twi’lek records keeper, for details about the job. Juda uploaded an image of Yalt to his holocommunicator, along with overall specs for the Rust Yard.

He wandered into Nem’ro’s cantina, and observed the woman calling herself The Red Blade sitting at the bar. A tattooed Rattataki woman sat near the back of the room, eyes glued to her. Zarek glanced from her, back to The Red Blade. After a brief internal debate, he approached.

“There’s a woman back there,” he said, “Not sure if she’s planning to offer you a drink or stick a knife in your back.”

She grinned as she turned to him. “You talk like the two are mutually exclusive,” she said.

Once he had left Nem’ro’s court, he had put his earpiece back in. Mako’s voice came through.

“The Rattataki is Kaliyo Djannis,” Mako reported. “Anarchist, former member of the Revolutionary Edge Brigade. Has a bounty of 250,000 credits – but since she’s working security for Nem’ro…”

“Since she works for Nem’ro,” the Blade finished, continuing to grin at Zarek, “she’s strictly off-limits.” She cocked her head winsomely and pointed to her implant. “And yes, I can hear everything you’re saying, Miss…?”

A brief silence. “Uh, Mako,” the young woman said through the earpiece. “I’m sorry…”

“No reason to be sorry. I appreciate the information on my stalker.” She raised her glass to the Rattataki. The woman raised an eyebrow at her, then withdrew. “So what’s the bounty on me?”

Mako hesitated. “1.2 million,” she replied.

The Red Blade pouted. “Is that all? I’ll have to try harder.”

“No offense, Mako,” Zarek said, “but I’m going to turn this into a private conversation. Tell Braden I’ll be back soon.”

He reached up, removed the earpiece. He turned back to the pirate, who looked at him expectantly.

“This isn’t actually the first time we’ve met,” he observed. “I was on your trail about two years back. You took a shot at me – a blade that came out of a device on your arm.”

“Well, they do call me the Red Blade,” she pointed out.

“Funny thing,” he said. “You were about a half-meter taller at the time.”

She smiled at his challenge. If she was at all rattled, she gave no sign.

“Body armor,” she explained. “I like to disguise who I am.”

“Except at Nem’ro’s Palace?” he said. “Because the people here are so trustworthy?”

She laughed. “These people? These are _my_ people, Hunter.” She leaned toward him, whispering teasingly. “If any of them wants to tell the galaxy that The Red Blade is a small blonde woman, I’ll board their ships in the most giant suit of armor I can find, with a voice synthesizer that makes me sound… Well, like you.” She took a sip of her ale. “I don’t think they will. None of them wants to become the next target of The Red Blade.”

***

Zarek excused himself shortly after. She lingered, watching a holo report streaming near the center of the bar. Images of fighting among Republic forces. A text crawl on the bottom of the image noted, “REPUBLIC SPECIAL FORCES TURN TRAITOR ON ORD MANTELL.”

She grinned, as if acknowledging some private joke. Then she stood, leaving the cantina in search of the quarters Nem’ro had provided for her.

She double-locked the door. She reached into her jacket pocket, retrieved a small device. A red beam quickly scanned the room, identifying the seven listening devices that had been implanted. She used her device to reroute the bugs to record the holonet news broadcast rather than any sounds in the room itself. Then, confident that she was finally properly alone, she activated her communicator.

A severe-looking bald man appeared before her. He wore a military uniform, and his face was fixed in a permanent frown.

“Congratulations, Cipher Nine,” the man said crisply. “HAVOC Squad has defected to the Empire.”

“I saw the news on the holonet,” she replied. She continued speaking in the Corellian accent she had selected for The Red Blade. As long as that remained her cover, she would remain in character to every possible extent. “Nice of the Republic to send forces in so our cameras could capture the battle – It made it much more dramatic.”

“There was skepticism of your operation,” he said. “How did you know Tavus would turn? He wasn’t known as a complainer.”

“That was the reason,” she replied. “Complainers drink and shout and get it out of their system. The man who stews over his grievances – He’s the one who will turn, because he doesn’t let things go. And the Republic gave Tavus a lot of grievances. We should send a Thank-You note to their Senate. They did half our work for us.”

“Quite.”

He almost smiled. She idly wondered if his face would break if he did.

“Well done today, as well,” he said. “The listening devices in Nem’ro’s gifts are working perfectly. He will keep no more secrets from us.”

“Thank you, Keeper,” she said, acknowledging the rare compliment. 

“Imperial Intelligence has determined that Nem’ro’s human lieutenant, Karrels Javis, is the weak link in the operation. Your orders are to twist him until he serves us.”

“Javis?” She was surprised. “He didn’t seem disloyal to Nem’ro.”

“He is fully loyal to him,” Keeper replied. “But he is sympathetic toward the Empire. He admires our efficiency, and he prefers humans in authority. Unfortunately, he is on the verge of disfavor with Nem’ro, while his Twi’lek lieutenant – Toth’lazhen, I believe – is the current rising star.”

“I take it you want me to reverse that trend?”

“Precisely. Karrels’ work has been suffering due to the interference of a rival Hutt named Fa’athra. I want you to offer your services as The Red Blade. Do whatever is required to bring Karrels glory in Nem’ro’s eyes.”

Keeper hesitated, and she felt herself grow tense. He had more news, and it wasn’t good.

“You should be advised, Cipher,” he said. “This operation has drawn the attention of a member of the Dark Council. Darth Jadus himself. It’s a rare… honor for an Intelligence operation to be overseen in this way.” 

She felt a chill run up her spine. She couldn’t say anything. Keeper was being careful with his words, which meant he believed the call was being monitored. Even the mildest expression of concern could be read as disloyalty. She just hoped Darth Jadus would restrict himself to observation. Sith “assistance” always ended badly, both for the operation and for the agent.

“Keeper out,” he said. His hologram flickered, then vanished.

She sighed, collapsing into a chair. She felt an urge to howl in frustration. She remembered that all listening devices were disabled, and gave into the urge, letting out a wordless cry.

She turned the holonet on, so that the room’s ambient sound could be matched to the false recording her device was creating. She routed the recording back to her room. _Kaliyo Djannis_ , she reflected. A minor anarchist-turned-security-guard. If she tried to create trouble, it would be a simple matter to remove her from the equation, and that could be easily blamed on Fa’athra.

She reflected on her conversation with Keeper, continuing to stew over Darth Jadus’s attention. 

_I hate Sith_. She was glad none were around to pick out the thought, which ran so loud in her head that even the weakest of Force Users couldn’t possibly have missed it.


	2. Blades of Poison

Reyenna Desme strode down the corridors of the Sith Academy with renewed energy and confidence. Gaining Darth Zash’s favor hadn’t made her safe, per se – But while Overseer Harkun remained resentful, he would now need an actual reason to kill her. Her lessons with Arkarix Krell had improved her swordplay - perhaps not to the level of an expert, but at least to where she could hold her own against her fellow acolytes.

Today's Trial was in the Detention Center. The Inquisitor who was acting as her judge directed her to interrogate a prisoner – another acolyte. A Sith Lord’s apprentice had been the victim of an “unauthorized murder.” Witnesses had placed Acolyte Trello at the scene.

“You must learn to control others,” he told her. “Make Trello tell you the identity of the murderer, at any cost. I look forward to watching you work.”

He leered, almost licking his lips at the prospect. This was a man who clearly enjoyed his work.

Trello was pale and shaking, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. His eyes darted about the room, searching for a sympathetic face. 

“I don’t know anything!” he insisted, even before she walked up to him.

“Hush,” she whispered to the acolyte. “I’m your friend.”

If she had been free to apply her own judgment, she might have indulged in pity for him. After all, what was one more murder in this place? But if she showed weakness, Darth Zash would not protect her from Harkun. The icy Sith Lord might even apply her own discipline – which Reyenna knew would be even worse than that of her murderous overseer.

“I just want to talk,” she cooed. Hoping to relax him enough for him to let something slip.

Something in his eyes went dead. He recognized the tactic, and knew that she would not be his ally.

“I swear I don’t know anything,” he pleaded, his voice a pathetic whine.

It was the whine that did it. Reyenna touched Trello’s hand, felt its softness. He had come from wealth and privilege. He had never done any sustained physical labor, had never felt the blow of an overseer’s whip. Instead, he had been pampered for his Force abilities, told how special he was.

On Korriban, no one was special unless they were Pure Blood Sith. They were all scum together until they proved otherwise.

“You don’t know anything?” she asked mildly. 

“I swear,” he begged.

“Tell me your name.”

“I… My name is Trello.”

“My name is Reyenna,” she said. “I’m from Balmorra originally. Where are you from?”

He seemed to be relaxing slightly. “Ah… Dromund Kaas.”

“Can you recite the Sith Code?”

He looked confused. “Of course. Why?”

“Don’t ask why,” she said. “Just recite it.”

He did so perfectly, clearly rattling off a lesson that had been ingrained since childhood.

She raised her hand and shot a blast of purple lightning into him. He cried out, screaming as it burned him.

“You lied to me,” she said sharply.

“What are you talking about?” The pampered young man was already sobbing.

“You know your name, you know where you're from, you know the Sith Code. So when you told me you knew nothing, that was a lie, wasn't it?”

She shot another burst of lightning at him. She didn’t even have to glance behind her to know that the Inquisitor was leaning forward, drinking in the sight of his pain. What surprised her was how much she shared that delight.

“Please!” Trello cried. “Don’t do that again. I’ll do anything!”

“Anything? Really?” Reyenna walked around the boy, evaluating him. “Sing to me.”

He shook his head. “What?”

“You heard me. Sing.” She raised her hand, as if to shoot another burst into his body.

“What would you like to hear?” he yelped.

She grinned. “I’m feeling… melancholy,” she said. “Cheer me up. Sing me something happy.”

“Uh… All right.” His face was a picture of desperation as he searched his mind for a song.

“I’m waiting,” she warned.

He gulped, began to sing:

_“They say it’s a perfect galaxy,_

_A great day to be alive._

_A… dum, dee-dee, dum-dum, dee-dee,_

_And then our love will thrive.”_

He strained against his bonds. “I can’t remember any more!” he cried. “Please, just let me go!”

Reyenna raised her hand. “Sing, you worm!” she thundered.

She fired another burst of lightning – A longer burst. The young man thrashed against his bonds, his scream becoming raspy. Reyenna could smell his flesh beginning to cook.

“I’ll talk!” Trello yelled. He was sobbing openly now. “He’ll kill me, but I’ll talk!”

She cut off the lightning, but kept her hand raised.

“Esorr Kayin,” he gasped. “He’s the murderer. You have to protect me, or he’ll kill me!”

Reyenna smirked at him.

“And what concern is that of mine?” she asked. She raised a hand to stroke his cheek. He flinched from her touch.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” she whispered. “Maybe he’ll kill you quickly. Until he does, stay out of my way. I despise soft little worms like you.”

Out of impulse, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then rose and turned to the Inquisitor, ignoring the weeping of the boy behind her.

“Esorr Kayin,” the old torturer mused. “A pity. His Master is Darth Acina, of the Dark Council. I doubt Kayin will get so much as a reprimand.” He glanced over at Trello. “It would probably be kindest to shoot the boy in the head and have done with it. But I admit, I’m curious to see exactly how Kayin will deal with him.”

He beamed at Reyenna. “Regardless, you have acquitted yourself magnificently. I might even have offered to take you on as my apprentice – But it seems you are already spoken for.” 

He hesitated, then leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. 

“Watch out for Darth Zash. Beneath those velvet gloves are blades of poison.” 

***

Reyenna was on her way back to Harkun’s office when she was intercepted by two others from her class. Wydr and Balek, two brothers. Not particularly skilled in The Force, but they made up for it by being built like brick houses. Even Ffon Althe, the Pure Blood Sith so favored by Harkun, hesitated to act against them.

“Hello,” she said, greeting them with her friendliest smile.

They had selected a secluded spot along her route, one with no side passages through which she could escape. They had closed on her from either side, so she could not even flee the way she had come.

“Hello, friend,” Wydn said. His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but he avoided meeting her eyes.

“I’m guessing Harkun sent you,” she observed. She reached up to balance her right hand against her left shoulder, so that she would be able to draw her practice blade one second faster than if she kept it at her side.

“We’re sorry it had to be like this,” Balek told her. “We actually like you.”

“But Harkun made you a deal,” she guessed. “You know he won’t keep it, right?”

“He didn’t promise to make us Zash’s apprentices,” Wydn said. “We know that’s never going to happen. He just said he’d send us home.”

Reyenna shook her head sadly. “You’re witnesses. He won’t leave you alive.”

“It's a chance,” Balek snapped. “That's more than we have otherwise!”

Reyenna drew her practice blade, adopting a defensive stance. 

“We’ll try to make it quick,” Balek promised, as he and Wydn drew their own blades.

She smiled. “I’ll try for the same."

The fight was short. Their initial blows were powerful, but Krell’s lessons allowed her to dodge with ease. Then she used her Force abilities to draw them up into the air. She kept her promise – Their necks snapped in the same instant, so that neither would have to see his brother die before him. An incerator was nearby. She floated the bodies there, dumping them into the flames. If she was observed, she detected no sign of it.

When she finally made it to the classroom, Harkun was alone. He did not seem surprised to see her.

“Well,” he said. “Look who shows up at long last.” He grinned. “Since Wydn and Balek aren’t with you, I’m guessing the contest is now between you and Ffon.”

He wasn’t even pretending, Reyenna saw. 

“Speaking of Ffon,” she said, with that sunny smile that she knew he hated, “where is your little pet? Do you have him alphabetizing torture implements?”

Instead of responding with annoyance, Harkun returned her smile with his own ugly grin.

“When you took so long returning,” he said, “I sent him ahead. Your final Trial will be in the Tomb of Naga Sadow. You must awaken an ancient assassin called a Dashade, who sleeps in the tomb’s depths. You will need the creature to access an ancient map from the tomb’s innermost chamber.” His rictus grin grew wider. “The Dashades were ancient assassins the Sith used to devour their Force-using enemies. If you manage to release it, then I expect it will reward you by eating you alive.”

“Sounds charming,” she replied.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said. “There is one Dashade, and one map. One of you will bring the map back to me, and will become Darth Zash’s apprentice. The other will die. And Ffon already has a substantial head start. My advice? Run, slave – Run!”

Reyenna felt her own grin rise in defiance.

“The winner is the one who returns the map,” she pointed out. “Not necessarily the one who retrieves it. I think Ffon might soon be the victim of an unfortunate accident.”

Harkun scowled, started to respond.

They both jumped at the sound of a throat clearing. Darth Zash stood in the back of the room. Neither overseer nor acolyte had any idea how long she had been standing there.

“I was hoping to see the last hopefuls off on their final journey,” Zash said. “Where are the others? The two beefy brothers and the red one – What’s his name? Ffloff?”

“Ffon,” Harkun replied, with a respectful bow. “The brothers appear to have fled the Academy.”

“Oh, they fled. I see.” It was clear Zash wasn’t fooled by the lie. “What about dear Fflop?”

“Ffon,” Harkun repeated. “He finished his Trial early, so I sent him on rather than keep him waiting – ”

“Oh, dear,” Zash said in mock despair. “I was just coming down with this text. I don’t believe the Dashade can be freed without it.”

Reyenna's forced grin transformed into a very genuine smirk. “Well,” she remarked. “It’s a good thing I didn’t start running, isn’t it, Overseer?”

Harkun spluttered. “But Ffon’s already left,” he protested. “You can’t just – ”

“Can’t what, Harkun?” There was a dangerous gleam in Zash’s eyes. “I can’t give one acolyte an unfair advantage over another? Tell me, when has being Sith had anything to do with being _fair_?”

Harkun stepped back, obviously cowed.

Zash turned to Reyenna. “My dear Reyenna,” she said, “here is what you must do to free the Dashade.” She activated a holographic map of the Tomb of Naga Sadow. “There are rods scattered all over the tomb. They are the keys to the chamber where the Dashade is imprisoned. You will need to place them in the chamber door, and then electrify them.”

“The same way I freed the holocron,” Reyenna said, recalling an earlier Trial.

“Essentially,” Zash confirmed. “The ancient Sith did love to create locks requiring lightning. It shows rather a lack of imagination, in my opinion.” She stepped forward, taking hold of Reyenna’s arm. Even through Zash’s glove and her own robe, Reyenna could feel the ice from the Sith Lord’s skin.

“Be mindful,” Zash said urgently. “The Dashade is dangerous. Harkun wasn’t lying about that.”

She looked back at Harkun, making sure the overseer knew that yes, she had been there long enough to overhear far more than he might have liked. Then she turned back to Reyenna. “I have reason to believe this particular Dashade was placed in the tomb by Tulak Hord himself. If I’m right, he’ll be particularly powerful.”

Reyenna felt an anxious twinge, forced herself to maintain her smile.  
  
  


“I’m not easy to kill,” she told Zash.

Zash grinned her approval. “Good.” She squeezed her arm, and Reyenna felt ice shoot into her. “I can’t interfere with the Trial. But know that my hopes go with you.”


	3. Within the Rules

Mako stepped out of the room to order some food and drinks from the cantina. Braden was fond of bantha flank, and Jory asked for an order of Batuu Bits. The drinks and Jory’s snack were ready immediately, but it took about twenty minutes for Braden’s steak to reach his preferred state: scorched black and tough as leather.

She paid no attention to the men who walked past her, heading to the private rooms. The Poison Pit received a lot of foot traffic, and Braden's was far from the only room rented. But when she headed back with the food, she heard voices from inside their room. Voices other than her friends.

She stopped in her tracks. She set her implants to amplify the conversation, just in time to catch Braden, replying to the intruders.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’re both gonna back out of here nice and slow.”

His tone was calm and firm, as always. His stillness under pressure had avoided many confrontations over the years, dozens of potential young turks thinking twice about crossing him in the face of those piercing blue eyes.

Unfortunately, his opponent in this case was not shaken.

“I know precisely what’s good for me.” Mako heard the sneer in the man's voice. A voice that sounded vaguely familiar. “Winning The Great Hunt will not merely be good,” the man continued, “It will be splendid.”

“You’ll never win,” Braden replied. “I remember you from ten years back, Tarro Blood.” Evident scorn in the old man’s voice. “You didn’t even make it through the first round before – ”

“This time I plan to win,” Tarro replied. “This time, I will only be facing my fellow Mandalorians.”

“What do you mean?”

Tarro laughed. “The Twi’lek vibroblade master from Ord Mantell? Gone. The Chiss droid builder and explosives expert? Gone. That leaves just your protégé to threaten my chances.”

Jory cut in. “Then your mission is a failure,” he snarled belligerently. “Your quarry is not here. And now revealed, your hunt has failed!”

“You misunderstand,” Tarro said calmly. “The rules forbid killing competitors before the allotted hour. All of the promising up-and-comers I mentioned? They’re very much alive. I simply eliminated them as threats.”

Mako heard movement from inside the room. She couldn’t quite decipher the sound.

“Tell me what you mean, son.” There was a sound in Braden’s voice that she’d never heard before.

“Sedyn.” Tarro talking to his associate, now. “How does one slow a charging gundark?”

“Blast his legs out from under him,” a giggly, high-pitched voice replied.

“Destroy the upstart’s so-called crew?” Tarro feigned surprise. “Well, if you insist. I’ll be outside, innocently unaware.”

Mako rushed back to the cantina, escaping the hall just before Tarro left the room. 

_Where are you, Zarek?_ His meeting with Nem'ro had ended more than an hour ago. Why wasn't he back?

Tarro calmly walked through the cantina. Now she recognized him, from all the records and holos of previous Great Hunts that she had gone through in preparation. He saw her looking at him, smiled.

She felt bile rise in her throat, but she forced a return smile, then turned to the food on her tray. Two men sat at a nearby table. She carried them the tray, pulled up a chair for herself. They were surprised, but didn’t protest – Few single men would be inclined to question free food and drinks, or pretty company.

Through her implants, she heard Braden call to Jory. The Nikto howled, the noise he made when he charged. She heard two blaster bolts, had to force herself not to react.

For a second, she held out hope. Jory was strong. Braden wasn’t as fast as he once had been, but he retained a steady aim. If Jory’s charge had caught Sedyn off-guard…

A wiry man emerged. He giggled, nasal and high-pitched, and nodded at Tarro. The two men left.

Mako held herself steady for a moment, making sure they were gone. Then she bolted to the back room.

Braden and Jory lay where they had fallen. Jory had been shot square in the forehead, the fatal blaster bolt cutting off his charge. Braden’s gun was clutched tight in his hand. A half-second more, and he would have killed Sedyn. A few years earlier… But time had slowed his aim just enough.

Mako collapsed onto the floor, staring at the corpses. Braden, the only father she had ever known. Jory, who had been like a tough older brother. Gone in an instant.

She heard footsteps behind her. Had Tarro realized who she was, come back to finish the job?

“What happened?”

It was Zarek. She turned to him, feeling the heat in her face.

_“Where were you?”_ she demanded.

She hurled herself at him, beating at his chest. If he had left Nem’ro’s immediately, he would have been here in time to make a difference. Instead, he had lingered with that blonde pirate. Braden had died while the man he had pinned his hopes on had been bantering and sharing drinks.

His arms went around her, surprisingly gentle, as he let her pound on him.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”

He stood impassive, like a wroshyr tree, as she beat out her grief and anger on him. Then he held onto her as she sobbed and wailed into his chest.

***

Later, she sat in the chair at her desk, dully narrating to him the confrontation that ended Braden’s life. The bodies still lay on the floor, though Zarek covered them with sheets.

“You did good,” he told her.

“I did nothing!” she snapped.

He shook his head. “You kept your head, and you stayed alive. If you’d gone rushing in, you’d just be one more dead body.”

Mako shook her head, rejecting any praise. “He didn’t even have the guts to kill them himself,” she said. “He had his lackey do it!”

“All within the rules,” Zarek said bitterly. “Tell me about this ‘Tarro Blood.’ ”

She took a breath, steadying herself.

“He’s a Mandalorian,” she said. “When he started out, he was major news. Rumor is, when he entered The Great Hunt ten years ago, everyone united against him. He barely survived, was out on his back for years.”

“So this time, he’s stacking the deck in his favor. Sounds like he’s already nixed some other competitors.”

Mako nodded. “If Blood’s determined to win The Great Hunt, then our best chance of catching up to him is to get you into that competition. But Braden spent all our credits getting you here, and it’s going to be days before the bounty for Vexx comes through.”

“Which means we need Nem’ro more than ever,” Zarek grunted. 

This was not welcome news. He hated everything about Nem’ro’s assignment. He was a bounty hunter, not a contract killer. He had hoped Braden would have a backup plan.

But, as the Hutt had so disgustingly said, if he wanted to win The Great Hunt, he had to be ready to do anything.

“Guess I’m going after one accountant, then.”

Mako made a face. “Are you really going to…?”

“I came to win The Great Hunt," he said flatly. "Looks like I’ve got no other choice.”

Mako nodded, trying not to look at the sheet-covered bodies.

“I’ll take care of… arrangements,” she said. “I hate this being their final resting place, but I’ll try to do something decent for them.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

“Tarro Blood’s head on a stick?”

He smiled humorlessly. “All in good time, kid. All in good time.”

***

Cipher Nine - aka, the notorious Red Blade - lingered at Nem’ro’s bar, keeping an eye out for Karrels Javis. She sat at a corner table, to discourage any of the locals from trying to be friendly. For the most part, it worked.

Until Kaliyo Djannis, the anarchist now acting as Nem’ro’s security expert, slipped into the seat opposite her.

“You look dry,” the Rattataki observed. “Why don’t I get us both a drink?”

“I’m fine with water, and I don’t believe you’ll be staying.”

“I prefer the good stuff,” Kaliyo replied. “And if anyone’s leaving, it’s going to be you.”

Kaliyo raised a hand. Without asking for an order, a server brought her a foul-smelling green concoction.

“My special,” Kaliyo explained, raising the glass in a mock toast before drinking. “Try it?” she offered. “It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

“I think I prefer my chest hairless, thanks.”

Kaliyo chuckled, leaned back. “I can’t help but wondering,” she said. “What’s The Red Blade doing visiting Nem’ro’s Palace?”

“You seem to have put some thought into the question. You tell me.”

“I think you want what everyone wants,” Kaliyo replied. “Money. Power. Maybe stir things up a little.” She took another sip of her green goo. “I’d like to think you’ll be trouble. I could enjoy keeping an eye on a bloodthirsty, treacherous pirate.”

“I hope you’re not flirting with me," Cipher said. "You’re not my type.”

“Yeah, I saw you with the Zabrak bounty hunter. The horns would be an issue for me, but...” Kaliyo shrugged and took another sip. A tiny coat of green now covered her upper lip. “If you are planning to be trouble, take your time. I’d hate to kill you before seeing everything you can do.”

“If you see everything I can do, then you won’t have the chance to kill me.”

Kaliyo grinned. “Who’s flirting now?”

She slid out of her chair, taking her drink with her. She cast a glance back over her shoulder as she disappeared into the staff door.

Cipher exhaled. Just what she needed. 

Karrels Javis shuffled his bulk into the bar. He was with Nem’ro’s Twi’lek lieutenant, Toth’lazhen. The two men were in the midst of a fierce argument, one they shouldn’t have been having in public.

“Fa’athra is going to keep tapping our gas pocket,” Javis said. “He isn't going to stop, and he’ll end up cutting our supply in half!”

Toth’lazhen was unconcerned. “When Fa’athra’s customers see he can’t refine the gas like we can, they’ll return to us. This is not a real problem. Just a short-term inconvenience.” He saw Cipher Nine watching them. “Good day, Javis.”

The Twi’lek gave a slight bow. He excused himself as she approached.

She smiled at Javis. “Something I said?” she asked mildly.

“You’ll have to forgive us." He returned her smile with a kindly one of his own. “Legitimate business brings out the worst in us. It's so much more cutthroat than actual crime.”

He jerked his head toward the staff door, and she followed him through.

“I’ve got about five minutes before I’ve gotta meet with some alien freaks,” he said. “I wanna ask you something. You’ve been around the galaxy. What’s it like dealing with the Empire?”

She looked guardedly back at him. “Why do you ask?”

“The Hutts have control of the gangs,” he said. “But I think that real soon, the Republic and the Empire are gonna want control of the Hutts. So if we’ve gotta pick a side, I wanna pick a winner.”

“You think that’s the Empire?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Those HAVOC guys obviously thought so. But I don’t wanna take a leap just because some Republic jarheads did. I wanna look at the full picture. It’s not just business, y’know? My sons are free traders, they’re doing business in the Sullest system. It’s their first time dealing with the Empire, so I worry.”

She could see him shifting his bulk from one foot to the other.

“Your sons will be OK,” she assured him. “Most Imperials are as reasonable as anyone else. As long as they don’t cross paths with any Sith, they’ll be fine.”

“The Sith are that bad?”

“I’ve only met a few,” she confessed. “There aren’t many of them, so the odds of running into one are small. But the couple I have met? Your security expert, Kaliyo, is a picture of stability by comparison.”

He grunted, nodded. “I’ll tell them to be careful. Thanks.” He started to turn away.

“Maybe you can help me,” she said. He turned back. “I’m here on vacation, but I’m already getting a little restless. I know I shouldn’t have been listening – But it sounds like this Fa’athra is muscling in on your territory. I might be able to help with that. For a price.”

Javis frowned, glanced down the hall. Seeing they were still alone, he stepped toward her.

“I can’t do anything officially,” he said. “Not without Nem’ro’s go-ahead, and that idiot Twi’lek has his ear right now. But Fa’athra is tapping our gas pocket. Toth’lazhen says no problem, our customers will come back. Blind stupidity. As long as Fa’athra has access to our gas, he doesn’t need our customers to shut us down.”

“A sabotage operation?” She mulled it over.

“It would be damn dangerous,” he told her. “And it’s not like I can send anyone along with you.”

She made a show of thinking it over.

“I think something can be arranged," she said after a moment. "As long as we understand that my services don’t come cheap.”

He grunted again. “Good work never does.”


	4. Factory Recall

Less than two hours later, Cipher Nine was at the Rust Yards.

“The Rust Yards” was the name given to Nal Hutta’s miles-long mechanized wasteland of factories. Generic factories. In typical Hutt style, they had been constructed for one purpose, then – after being run into the ground – were refitted for some other goal. Safety and efficiency were not concerns – only profit.

Twenty years earlier, in the wake of the Treaty of Coruscant, there had been a sudden demand for security droids. True to Hutt form, the Rust Yard’s workshops had been dedicated to churning those out. Inevitably, the droid bubble had burst, and the Hutts shifted focus to the extraction and processing of fossil fuels. The completed and partially completed droids were not melted down; they were simply dumped in the swamp. Many survived, and even now security droids in various stages of completion patrolled the Yards, intermittently targeting those they regarded as “security threats.”

Which wasn’t all bad, Cipher reflected as she found the body of a relatively recent droid victim. A young man, not dissimilar in build to herself. She stripped him of his uniform and changed into it. She would now at least pass a cursory scan as a factory worker. That, plus the specs of Fa’athra’s factory that she had received from an Imperial asset named Jheeg, should be enough to get her into the area. 

Jheeg had told her of a series of tunnels connecting the factories, probably originally designed as escape routes. That would be her way in, and likely her way out again.

“This is starting to feel like fate.”

The gruff voice made her look up sharply. Zarek, the Zabrak bounty hunter, was standing with his arms folded, watching her. He was also wearing a factory uniform, though his looked a bit tight around the shoulders and collar.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“Concerned about your modesty?” He smirked. “Don’t worry, you were already straightening the cuffs when I spotted you. Yours fits a lot better than mine.”

She studied him, evaluating options. Keeper would doubtless tell her to eliminate him, but she preferred not to. He hadn’t seen anything that conflicted with her Red Blade cover. Plus, he might actually be useful.

“It looks like we’re both heading to Fa’athra’s factory,” she observed. “A job for Nem’ro?”

“A dirty one,” he said. “But if it gets me into the Great Hunt…” He shrugged.

“What’s your plan for getting in?”

“I was going to just stroll in through the front,” he said. 

She eyed his ill-fitting uniform.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Bad plan."

“I have a better one.” She told him about the tunnels. “Even a Hutt’s not stupid enough to leave no security,” she said. “I could use your help getting through.”

“And once we’re through?”

She patted her pack. “Some things will go ‘boom.’ ” He frowned, started to say something. “Don’t worry, Hunter. It’ll be on a timer. We’ll have ten minutes to get out.”

“Ten minutes.” He sighed. She knew it wasn’t much time, but if she allowed more than that, there was too great a chance of the explosives being detected and disarmed.

“OK,” he said at last. “So where are these tunnels?”

***

From appearances, she guessed the “tunnels” were actually designed as a network of maintenance passages. They appeared to criss-cross to all the factories, though several passages were cut off by crudely-welded grates.

“Judging from the amount of rust, this is a couple years old,” Zarek grunted as he studied a grate.

“So probably Nem’ro, reinforcing a weak spot,” Cipher judged. “Not Fa’athra.”

“First good news of the day,” Zarek replied.

Mako’s voice came through his earpiece, and Cipher used her implants to listen in.

“I might have more good news," Mako said. “I’ve been doing some digging, and it looks like Fa’athra only took control of his factories a month ago. The tunnels you’re in aren’t in the official specs, and Fa'athra's attention has been fully devoted to trying to refine gas. Which means…”

“Which means there’s a good chance Fa’athra doesn’t know about them,” Cipher observed, smiling. “You are good, Mako.”

“Better than you know,” Mako told her. “Nem’ro left security junction boxes all over those tunnels, and I’ve pinged their frequency. Set your implants to Frequency Zed-7-Omega-9-2.”

Cipher did as instructed. Her implants quickly detected the junction boxes. In effect, she now had a map leading from their current position to Fa’athra’s factory.

“If you get tired of the big guy, I can find room for you on my team,” she told Mako.

“Thanks, but no. Zarek and I have some business we need to tend to.”

Cipher led Zarek down the trail. The grates didn't show on Cipher's map, so she had to double back a few times. Still, the junction boxes led them directly beneath the line separating Nem’ro’s territory from Fa’athra’s. As they crossed, they noted surveillance cameras and dormant security droids.

“I’m guessing Nem’ro’s prepping an attack from below,” Zarek said. “Probably reprogramming some of the droids from the Rust Yards – A couple here, a couple there. Just a little at a time, so Fa’athra doesn’t notice. Credit where it's due - Nem'ro may be slime, but he's not stupid.”

Cipher agreed. From the build-up, she guessed that Nem’ro was maybe a month away from pushing Fa’athra out of his factories. That, and not laziness, was likely why Toth’lazhen was so unconcerned by the rival Hutt operation; he knew it would soon be ended.

It also showed how far out of favor Karrels Javis had fallen, that he was so unaware of the situation.

A single security door separated the tunnel from a ventilation shaft that formed part of Fa’athra’s factory. With her implant and a simple unlocking device, Cipher was easily able to get through. She left it unsealed.

“We’re going to have to get out fast,” she explained.

Zarek nodded that he understood.

They emerged from the vents and quickly joined a work crew, their stolen uniforms allowing them to blend in. They spent the next hour working alongside Fa’athra’s laborers. Cipher pulled out her PADD and moved from gauge to gauge, ostensibly checking pressure readings to make sure the various pipes weren’t overheating. What she really was doing was using her PADD to trace the pipes to their source – the main shaft. 

Meanwhile, Zarek played the part of computer technician, working to bring a recalcitrant terminal online. He was surprisingly deft with electronics, Cipher noted. _Brains as well as brawn_. Once he had it online, Mako hacked into it to locate their target.

They met at the base of a set of stairs. They walked casually past Fa’athra’s guards with several other laborers. Zarek’s too-tight uniform got a couple looks.

“They didn’t have one in my size,” Zarek snapped, feigning indignation at the guards’ stares.

They accepted the explanation and waved him through.

Their respective targets were in opposite directions. She offered to help him with his task first, but he shook his head.

“This is ugly work,” he said. 

“I’m not squeamish,” she replied.

“Well, I am. Ten minutes, right?” She nodded confirmation. “We’ll meet at the grate, go back out the way we came. Agreed?”

They separated.

Two guards stood by the main shaft. She walked past them, flashing one guard a flirtatious smile. She continued walking, not varying her pace, stopping only after she had turned the nearest corner.

Then she pulled a gas grenade from her pack. A small device, designed to silently release a short-proximity jet. She popped back around the corner and lobbed it directly between the two men. They barely had time to register it before it sprayed the gas. They collapsed to the floor, instantly unconscious.

She affixed a breather to her nostrils. She strode back to the guards, quickly affixed the explosives within the shaft, and started the timer.

She waved to a couple passing laborers and pointed to the unconscious men. When they started to approach, she held up a hand to stop them.

“Gas leak,” she said, pointing to her breather. “Get everyone to the lower levels, as fast as you can.”

She dragged the two guards, one at a time, away from the proximity of the gas. More laborers appeared, grabbing them and taking them downstairs. The guards she and Zarek had passed on their way up had already left their posts. She doubted Fa’athra paid well enough for anyone to risk dying in a gas explosion.

She moved briskly to the vent that had been their entrance, her eyes searching for Zarek. The bounty hunter had not yet appeared.

Her implant tracked the time. Four minutes left. She would give him two more, then leave without him. She hoped he was safe – But she was not about to risk either her mission or herself.

***

Zarek found the accountant in a small office. Practically a holding cell, complete with two human guards.

These guards were not lulled by his uniform. 

“Keep moving,” one growled, while the other pulled out his blaster. Both had already noted the poor fit, and eyed him with evident suspicion.

The thing about humans that Zarek had found was their propensity for making assumptions. Zarek was big, which humans tended to assume meant "slow." 

He wasn't slow. He rolled to the floor, drawing his blaster in a single motion. As he completed a somersault, he drew the gun up, firing at the guard with the gun. The other guard was vaulting behind the desk, to use it as cover. 

He didn't make it. Zarek's blaster found him half a second before he would have made it to safety.

The accountant, Yalt, trembled on the floor, hands clutched to the sides of his head as he stared at the dead men. Then he stared at Zarek, eyes wide with terror.

Zarek approached him. “You know why I’m here.”

“Please!” Yalt cried. “You don’t have to kill me!” His eyes begged for mercy. “You can see that I was a prisoner, can’t you? Look – I’ll take my wife, get off this planet.” He gestured to the computer terminal. “I’ll crash Fa’athra’s accounts before I go. Ruining his finances will make Nem’ro so happy, he won’t care what happens to me!”  
  


Zarek hesitated for the barest instant. The man was obviously terrified, and the guards Zarek had just killed pointed to the truth of his words. 

Besides, he was a bounty hunter, not an assassin. He would kill when he had to, such as with Vexx, but he preferred to bring men in alive.

“How fast can you crash Fa’athra’s accounts?” he asked. “You’ve got about five minutes. Faster would be better.”

Yalt shot to the computer terminal like he was jet-propelled. His fingers danced across the keyboard, accessing Fa’athra’s files. A few more keystrokes, and the very large numbers on the screen transformed into zeroes.

“Where does the actual money go?” Zarek wondered.

“With no records, the bank will just keep it,” Yalt replied. “Reinvest it, or more likely pad out a few executive bonuses.” His fingers continued to move in such a rapid blur that Zarek could barely distinguish the individual digits. If the man had practiced with a gun instead of a keyboard, he would have been a faster quick-draw artist than Vexx. “Deleting the back-up records… There. Completely unrecoverable.”

Mako confirmed Yalt’s words. “Fa’athra’s going to be getting some very unwelcome news from the Cartel bank,” she said.

Zarek nodded. “OK, Yalt. Time to run. If Nem’ro finds out you’re alive, he’s not going to care about this magic trick – He will kill you slowly. Send someone for your wife, and get on the first shuttle out of here. Use a fake identity, and never come within a light year of any Hutt ever again.”

Yalt looked like he might cry. He started to offer Zarek his thanks. The bounty hunter cut him off.

“There’s no time!” Zarek snapped. “Run!”


	5. A Little Old-School Sith Wrath

Back in the tombs, Reyenna reflected. For all the pride the Sith placed in it, so far as she could determine all of Korriban was nothing but dust and tombs. A planet-wide cemetery, the world itself nothing but a monument to the Sith’s refusal to accept the defeats of the past and look to the future.

Reyenna had little use for the past. Nothing good rested there.

In comparison to Marka Ragnos’ hole in the ground, the Tomb of Naga Sadow was immense. In typical Sith fashion, its history was convoluted.

“It isn’t actually a tomb," Zash had explained, "and it wasn’t built for Naga Sadow. The Sith Lord Tulak Hord commissioned the structure centuries before Naga Sadow was even born. When Sadow was the reigning Sith Lord, he expressed his desire to be buried in it. But the Empire fell at the end of the Great Hyperspace War, and he ended up dying in exile on Yavin 4.”

“So his tomb wasn’t actually built for him, and there’s no body in it?” Reyenna clarified.

Zash had smiled coldly. “Oh, there are many bodies,” she assured the acolyte. “Just make sure you don’t become one of them.”

Reyenna was still on the tomb’s ground level when she saw the first bodies. The corpses were in various stages of decay, but all wore acolytes’ robes. Victims of rival students.

Ffon would be here somewhere. She doubted she would be in any danger on the way in. By now, he would have realized that he was missing information needed to reach the Dashade. He would hide, allow her to solve the puzzle. Then he would strike. That’s what she would have done, in his place. Still, she would remain alert.

Her first task was to gather the rods Zash had indicated. Four rods, that acted as keys to the Dashade’s chamber. The ancient Sith had placed them in the hands of the statues decorating the tomb. Sith were born drama queens, so of course each rod had its own name: The Rod of Hate, The Rod of Fury, The Rod of Wrath, and The Rod of Despair.

She amused herself by renaming them as she located them.

“I dub thee The Horn of the Pretty Pink Unicorn,” she announced to The Rod of Hate as she wrested it from its statue’s grasp. If the metal bar held any resentment toward its re-christening, it gave no sign.

The Rod of Fury became “The Staff of Silly Balloon Animals.” The Rod of Despair became “The Tube of Candied Sweets.”

She left the Rod of Wrath with its original title. As she thought of Overseer Harkun and of Ffon, she had to admit to seeing the merits of a little old-school Sith wrath.

As she ascended to the tomb’s top level, she found fewer and fewer traces of other students. She did find traces of Ffon’s presence, however – in the form of several security droids that had been violently dismantled. A trail of decidedly organic blood showed that he had been injured in the encounter.

Had Harkun not sent Ffon along ahead of her, those injuries would almost certainly have been hers. She made a note to thank the overseer for all the ways he had unwittingly helped her. Still, she went on the alert. Ffon may have cleared away these droids, but that didn’t mean that more weren’t waiting further in.

As she proceeded, she began to sense the Dashade. It was powerful and cunning. Malevolence incarnate, and a hunter by instinct. It was hungry.

She followed that sensation, moving more quickly as she neared it. She strode confidently through an opening, briskly turned a corner…

…And caught herself just in time to keep from plunging down a sheer drop.

After backpedaling several steps, she inched forward to take a look at the chasm. It was a wide, room-sized shaft, that went all the way down to the tomb’s foundation. Certain death. A thin walkway hugged the surrounding wall, providing a path forward for the cautious and well-balanced. It was a crude trap, certainly – but an effectively-designed one.

Would it be too much to hope that Ffon had taken that plunge? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Much like Arkarix Krell, Ffon was a Pure Blood Sith. He had spent his entire life preparing for Korriban, and would not fall easily to its pitfalls. Certainly not to a literal pitfall, she reflected with a thin smile.

Reyenna hugged the wall as she crept along the walkway. She took her time circling to the opening to the next passage, making sure of every step. The vision Zash had shown her, that nightmare of blood and bone, had assured her that she would not die on Korriban. But the line between a vision and a hallucination was too thin to trust, not in the way she trusted the feel of stone beneath her feet.

When she finally reached the passage, she exhaled, relaxing with relief.

Which, of course, was when the droids attacked.

Had the droids been well-maintained, her mistake of relaxing would have spelled the end of her journey. Fortunately, the droids had been left to rust, and the squeak of unoiled metal alerted her a second before the blaster fire began. Just enough time to duck out onto the walkway, pressing her back against the stone and letting the blaster bolts sail harmlessly past.

Squeaks and clunks as the droids approached. She waited, holding her breath, listening intently. Placing their positions and numbers. She believed there were three of them. Arkarix Krell, with his Sith warblade, could have rushed out and dispatched them before any of them was able to so much as raise its blaster.

She was not Krell. Their fencing had improved her skill, but no one would accuse her of having lightning reflexes, nor would her practice blade do much against their metal chassis.

The droids moved slowly, however, and that gave her an advantage. 

She backed further onto the stone walkway, making sure to make noise. The droids responded, approaching.

She sent a Force wave, a burst of pure air. The first droid toppled off the narrow walkway, and gravity did the rest. _Two left_. She dove for the passageway, sending another burst of air around her as she did.

It was enough to knock one of the droids onto its back. It fired at her from its prone position. She ran directly in front of the one still standing. She was quick enough to evade the blaster bolts, but the last droid was all but cut in half by them.

The droid on the floor continued firing. One more Force wave shot it out the opening, along with the pieces of its unintended victim. She heard the satisfying crunch of the metal hitting the foundation, far below.

The Dashade’s trail led to a chamber. Beyond that was another chamber with a sheer drop, a single pillar standing in the center. An oubliette, a prison designed to be both unreachable and inescapable. The hatred and hunger originated within. Her goal – tantalizingly close and, at the same time, impossible to reach.

She grinned as she imagined Ffon’s frustration.

In the chamber where she stood, there was a rectangular platform, with a sculpture at each of the four corners. Any bystander would presume them to be purely decorative, but Zash had told her the secret. 

Each sculpture stood for the trait of its corresponding rod. Baleful red eyes stared out of the sculpture of hate. “The pretty pink unicorn,” she announced, placing her renamed rod into its nose. The stone opened as the rod slid into its slot. With it sticking out from just below the red eyes, it actually did resemble a unicorn, albeit a particularly demonic one.

Wrath was an animal face, teeth bared in a snarl. Fury was the same face, only now in a full roar. The final sculpture, Despair, was represented by the figures of two slaves, a mother and her child. 

Her eyes lingered on the sculpture, and she again saw the guard’s knife opening her mother’s throat.

“The past is dead,” she told herself. “Have some candied sweets,” she told the sculpture, ramming the rod into place between the two slaves, separating mother from daughter by driving the physical wedge between them.

The sound of metal, clattering along stone. A bridge emerged, connecting Reyenna’s chamber to the oubliette. The path to the Dashade was open. The monster himself stood within the pillar. A hulking beast with green skin, red eyes, and enormous fangs. It still slept, but Reyenna could feel it stirring. Soon it would awaken.

“Thank you, slave. I had almost given up hope.”

Reyenna turned, entirely unsurprised at the voice.

Ffon stood before her. In his hand, he held not a practice blade, but a blood red lightsaber.

_Harkun._ The overseer had made sure his favorite student had every advantage possible.

She kept her eyes on the Sith. She had seen the blood, so she knew the droids had wounded him. Where had he been injured?

“I saw your blood on the floor by that first pile of droid parts,” she said. “Sloppy. I got rid of mine without getting hurt – and Harkun didn’t give me a lightsaber.”

“The droids were unexpected,” Ffon said.

“I thought big, strong Sith like you were trained to expect the unexpected.”

Ffon’s lips drew up in a thin, hard smile.

“You’re trying to make me angry,” he observed. “You needn’t bother, slave. I am always angry. It is the source of my strength!”

He lunged at her with the blade. She darted back, toward the sculptures. 

“I will kill you,” he boasted. “I will return with the Dashade and the map, and I will become Darth Zash’s apprentice.”

He swept his blade in a wide arc, which she evaded with a leap. She thought she detected a grimace. Pain? His first attack had been a controlled lunge, toward her midsection. His second had been a low sweep. No high attacks yet.

“Zash doesn’t want you, Ffon,” she snapped. “Haven’t you noticed? You’re Harkun’s favorite, but I’m the favorite of the person he answers to.”

“Zash is a Sith Lord,” Ffon replied. “When you are dead, you will be forgotten as just another weak acolyte, and she will be happy to accept the strong.”

Another lunge. Another low one. Reyenna was starting to feel confident.

She jumped onto the sculpture representing despair. She balanced precariously atop its uneven surface, presenting Ffon with a clear target – but a clear _high_ target. If she was wrong, she would be dead in the next seconds. If she was right…

Ffon hesitated, staring at her. She felt a surge of satisfaction, and spread her arms. “What’s the matter, Ffon? I’m right here. Strike me down, and claim your destiny.” 

Ffon lifted his blade, but his arm resisted him. He grimaced, pushing against the pain, his red face going pale pink with the effort.

Pain loosened his grip. She reached out with her mind and plucked the lightsaber from his hand, pulling it to her own.

“A Sith warblade,” she observed. Like Krell’s, though smaller in stature. Much like Ffon himself.

She leapt down onto her rival, slicing with the blade. He howled as his right arm was severed. He collapsed onto his back, wriggling away. She advanced, steering him toward the bridge she had extended. 

“You wanted the Dashade,” she said. “Let me introduce you to him!”

The creature’s eyes were open. Fixed on the two of them. Pure hatred in its glare.

“Dashade!” Reyenna called. “I am Reyenna Desme, future apprentice to Darth Zash. I have freed you from your prison, and I deliver to you this offering.”

A Force Blast propelled Ffon to the creature’s feet. The Sith whimpered as he stared up at the beast. The creature glared balefully down.

“The universe conspires to mock me,” the Dashade thundered. He raised his head and shouted at the walls of the Tomb. “Tulak Hord, I waited for you! And _this_ is what you send me?”

Ffon whimpered again, raising his remaining hand in a futile attempt to protect himself. He shot a bolt of lightning at the creature.

The Dashade laughed.

“Fate is cruel to me, little one,” he rumbled. “But not as cruel as it is to you.”

The creature drew itself to full height, towering above the injured Sith.

“I am Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord,” he announced. “Together, we devoured our enemies at the Battles of Yn and Chabosh. We brought the entire Dromund system to its knees. Here, I have waited for my master’s return. And I hunger!”

An enormous claw reached out for Ffon, pulling him up by his face. The Sith screamed, helpless as a child, as Khem Val suspended in the air. Slowly, the creature bent forward, and Ffon's cries turned from terror to white-hot agony as the Dashade tore his flesh with razor-sharp fangs.

It was a gruesome sight, but Reyenna knew she could not afford to show weakness. She stood in place, watching the creature feed, suppressing any pity she might have felt at her enemy’s end.

What little remained of Ffon was dropped over the edge of the pillar. Khem Val turned his angry gaze to Reyenna.

“You should have run,” the creature rumbled. “I have not yet sated my hunger.”

The vision came back to Reyenna. Of this creature, at her side, grinning demonically. _Who shall I devour next?_

Reyenna shook the vision away, focusing her attention on surviving the present. The Dashade stood before her, clearly intent on making her its next meal.

She met its gaze firmly with her own.

“I am not on the menu,” she said. “Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord. Your old Master is long dead.”

“Dead?” The Dashade seemed taken aback. “Tulak Hord? The Lord of Hate, the Master of the Gathering Darkness, the Dark Lord of the Sith… is dead?”

“Quite some centuries ago, yes,” she confirmed.

Khem Val howled. “My Lord!” he cried. “Why did you not come to me sooner? For you, I would have slain Death itself!”

Reyenna felt a flash of impatience.

“Regardless, he is now dust,” she said. “By now, even his bones have been devoured by time and scavengers.”

He howled again, glaring at her with renewed rage.

She drew herself up. Zash had told her exactly what to say, and how to say it. She did this now.

“I am Reyenna Desme,” she repeated. “I have freed you from your prison. I have given you my enemy, and you have feasted on him. According to ancient and inviolable law, Khem Val, you must now serve me.”

The hatred in the creature's eyes was a force in itself, absolute and unyielding. If Zash’s words did not work, if he remained unbound, then her death would make Ffon's look merciful by comparison. She had been able to defeat her rival acolyte mainly because of his injuries. Even with Ffon’s lightsaber, she would stand no chance against Khem Val.

The Dashade drew back its head and howled one more time, this time in desolation.

“Tulak Hord!” he cried. “Why did you abandon me? Why have you allowed your servant to be reduced to this?”

His lament echoed around the chamber for a full minute before it finally, gradually died out.

“Very well,” Khem said at last. “You have freed me, little one, and you have fed me. By the laws that bind me, I must serve. But you will never be my master.”

“Denial won’t change the situation,” Reyenna replied. “You serve me, and you will do as I say.”

“For now,” the creature rumbled. “But someday, you will make a mistake and breach the law that binds me to you. On that day, your death will be a tale that will make the Tiss’shar’s blood run cold, and that will make the fiercest Trandoshan hunter build his campfire higher, out of fear of sharing your doom.”

Reyenna grinned brightly, the way she did when Harkun shouted insults at her. “Agreed,” she said, sticking out her hand as if to shake his. 

He stared at her hand, confused by both the gesture and her manner.

She shrugged, withdrew her hand, and ordered him to take her to the map.

“The Map for the Future?” he confirmed.

She sighed wearily. "I expect that would be the one, yes. The Sith do love throwing fancy titles at things, don’t they?”


	6. A Very Simple Task

Zarek and Cipher returned to Nem’ro’s Palace together. They had both contributed to the acts of sabotage at Fa’athra’s factory, and they agreed it might help both of them to have someone to corroborate their story. They surrendered their guns to Karrels Javis and strode, side-by-side, into the Hutt’s court.

Nem’ro greeted them with enthusiasm.

“The heroes of the hour!” he proclaimed. “I understand that between the two of you, Fa’athra has had a very bad day.”

“Karrels Javis deserves much of the credit,” Cipher said. “I would have had no reason to visit Fa’athra’s factory if not for his intelligence.”

Javis beamed at her. Next to him, Toth’lazhen scowled.

“That’s what I like from my advisors!” Nem’ro stated. “Initiative. See, Toth’lazhen? You could learn from Karrels.”

The Hutt settled his toxic grin on Zarek. “And you! I understand Fa’athra’s finances have vanished. How did you manage that?”

Zarek shrugged. “Yalt offered to crash Fa’athra’s accounts, so I let him do it.”

Nem’ro laughed his throaty, gargling chortle. If sewage were capable of mirth, Zarek reflected, this is what it would sound like.

“From the way Yalt’s wife left town, I’m guessing my accountant’s last good deed didn’t save him. My spies tell me she ran as if all the akk dogs on Hutta were after her.”

“You gave me a job to do,” Zarek replied. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about either of them again.”

More of Nem’ro’s laughter. “A truly prodigious warrior! So fierce of spirit!”

Zarek had endured enough of this obese slug’s sense of humor.

“All right,” he said. “I’ve hopped through your hoops, and I’ve delivered with interest. Now it’s your turn, Nem’ro. Sponsor me in the Great Hunt.”

“Soon, my impatient bounty hunter.” Nem’ro’s wet tongue licking at the gray crevice that was his mouth. “I have just one more task for you to perform. Approach.”

Zarek had to force down an aggravated sigh. One more hoop. He stepped toward the Hutt. “What else do you need me to do?” He couldn’t quite keep the edge out of his voice.

“A very simple task,” Nem’ro assured him. “I need you to die. _Bosca!_ ”

The floor opened up beneath Zarek’s feet. He fell. Not far – He landed gracelessly on his back, but was uninjured by the fall. Above him, Nem’ro’s laughter continued.

He was surrounded by foul sights and smells. To his left was a large pile of what looked like animal droppings. To his right, he saw bones. They looked humanoid, and had clearly been chewed on.

“I’m going to kill you, Nem’ro!” he shouted as he climbed to his feet.

He heard gates opening around him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw creatures lurking behind the gates – akk wolves, k’lor’slugs, and other beasts. All of their eyes were on him. Their prey.

He didn’t have his gun, so he grabbed for the nearest available weapon: a well-chewed bone. It would make an acceptable club. He glanced around, furiously seeking something else with which to defend himself.

The floor was closing above him – a grate, which would keep both him and the beasts from attacking Nem’ro while still allowing the Hutt and his guests a view of the action.

Before the floor closed, an object dropped, landing directly beside him. It was a blaster. Tiny, but functional. He dove, came back up with the weapon in his hand.

As he rose, he heard a dull thunk behind him. He pivoted, and saw Cipher standing, a knife in either hand. 

She flashed him a grin. “Let’s do this, shall we?”

Her voice shook slightly with adrenaline and nervousness. He had just enough time to give a single, quick nod.

The gates finished opening, and the beasts hurled themselves toward them.

He swung his bone club at an akk wolf’s head, firing the blaster at another wolf in the same second. The tiny weapon was more powerful than it looked. The wolf he shot collapsed dead on the spot. The k’lor’slug paused in its advance, devouring the easier meat of the dead canine before coming after either of them.

Cipher leapt athletically onto another wolf’s back, driving both knives into its neck. The animal Zarek had clubbed recovered, lunged at him. He shot it, while swinging his bone at yet another wolf.

The k’lor’slug continued to ignore them in favor of the corpses they were leaving. Above them, Zarek heard shouts – some of outrage, others of delight. He was certain the various members of the court were taking bets on the outcome.

At the back of the arena, another gate began to rise. It was taller and wider than the others. As it ascended, a deep and hideous roar sounded from the other side.

“I think this is about to get serious,” Cipher observed.

She started to draw close to him, but he waved her back. He pointed to one side of the gate, while he moved to the other side. 

The gate rose enough for the creature to stick its head through. As he had expected – a rancor.

Cipher reached into her pocket and drew out what looked like a small plastic ball. She threw it onto the gate.

“Duck!” she cried.

Zarek had barely hit the dirt when the explosion sounded. He heard the gate come crashing down. The rancor howled, and the crowd above went quiet.

When he realized he was still alive, Zarek raised his head and turned toward the beast.

The rancor lay dead, its skull crushed by the enormous gate.

“I blew the mechanism as the creature was coming through,” Cipher explained, extending her hand to help him to his feet. “The gate crashed right back down on its head. Crude, but effective.”

Zarek stared at the dead beast, then at the woman who had saved him.

“Do you always carry explosives around with you?” he asked.

"Well, you know how it is," she said with a smile. "A girl likes to be prepared.”

***

Cipher and Zarek waited in the pit for several minutes, as Nem'ro and his advisors argued above. Finally, a rope was thrown down to them. Zarek ascended first, and she followed.

Guards waited at the top, blasters leveled at their chests. Kaliyo stood at the front. Cipher could read the hunger in the Rattataki’s eyes. She wanted nothing more than to start shooting.

Zarek glared at the closest guard, who backed away slightly in response.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t spread your Hutt guts all over this chamber,” he called to Nem’ro, not bothering to turn.

Nem'ro let out a low growl, that sounded almost like it belonged to one of the creatures they had just slaughtered. “One word from me, little bounty hunter, and Kaliyo will turn your insides into a necklace.” The Hutt glared at Cipher. “You and the hunter slayed my beasts. Why should I not let my head of security destroy you?”

Cipher winked at Kaliyo, then turned to Nem’ro.

“You wanted a spectacle, did you not, mighty Nem’ro?” She spread her arms, playing to the crowd. “Were you not entertained? Was this not more fun than watching the beasts slaughter one unarmed bounty hunter? You took bets on the outcome – and from the smiles I see around me, a few of you did well.”

Voices murmured general agreement, and she knew she had the crowd on her side. She also knew Nem'ro was smart enough to be able to read the room.

“I don’t like cheaters,” she said, staring coldly at Nem’ro. “You promised my friend here something in return for his services. I think it’s time you paid up.”

More murmurs from the crowd indicated that at least some in the chamber agreed with her.

“I played your game,” Zarek said, stepping toward him. His demonic face looked like murder incarnate. “Give me my sponsorship.”

A long silence, as Zarek stared daggers at the Hutt. Even with all the guns pointed at Zarek and Cipher, it was clear that Nem'ro felt nervous.

“I cannot,” Nem’ro said at last. “I have already given my sponsorship token to someone else." Then his lips split in a grin. "You might yet be able to claim it."

“No more games, Nem’ro,” Zarek snapped.

“Just one game, I think,” the Hutt replied. “A final one.”

Nem’ro somehow managed to lean forward over his bulk. “I gave my token to the Trandoshan bounty hunter, Rarsk. He remains on Hutta, collecting some final bounties to finance his hunt. If you want my token, claim it from him.”

“Don’t think I won’t do just that,” Zarek said firmly.

Nem’ro grinned, leaning lazily back again on his throne. “If you succeed, I win. If you fail, I still win. Either way, the toughest man on Hutta goes to The Great Hunt under my name!”

Nem’ro glanced at Cipher.

“You killed my rancor.”

She shrugged. "It was in my way."

“Normally, I would kill you for that,” Nem’ro said. “But you did me one favor today, and circumstances allow you to do me yet another. To replace the possession you broke. My spies inform me that Fa’athra is arranging to take possession of a rancor egg.”

Cipher recognized where this was going. “You want me to liberate the egg,” she guessed.

Unfortunately, this also fell in line with Imperial priorities. Possession of a rancor was a status symbol among Hutts. If her impulsive act threw doubt on Nem’ro’s dominance of Hutta, then she could expect severe retribution. Particularly with a Sith overseeing the operation.

“Fair enough,” she said. “I’ll get it for you.”

Nem’ro smiled. “Splendid. See, Kaliyo? I told you she would be reasonable.”

Kaliyo scowled.

“Juda will give you the details,” he told her. “With your friend’s assistance, I doubt there will be any problems.”

“And why would I go egg hunting for you?” Zarek snapped.

“Because both of your targets will be in the same location,” Nem’ro said. “Rarsk plans to collect an Imperial bounty on a Republic scientist. She is waiting for transport off-world at the Poison Pit Cantina… Which is exactly where Fa’athra’s agents plan to purchase the rancor egg. Two targets, one location.” 

Nem’ro laughed yet again as he dismissed them. “Good luck, my hunters!”


	7. Unforeseen Circumstances

Reyenna returned to Harkun’s office at the Sith Academy, the Dashade at her side and the map in her hand. Zash’s grin was matched in intensity by Harkun’s scowl as he accepted it.

“Now, Harkun,” Zash said, her smile not wavering. “Please explain why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Harkun’s skin paled, and his jaw twitched as he tried to form a reply. “M-my Lord?"

“I was very specific about what type of acolyte I wanted,” Zash said. “I requested acolytes with no Sith history or training. Yet you brought in a Pure Blood, trained practically from birth. What were you trying to prove? That you could outsmart me? That you knew better than me what kind of person I wanted for an apprentice?”

For the first time, Reyenna heard genuine anger in the Sith Lord’s voice. It was a quiet anger, wielded with the care and control of a scalpel.

Harkun said nothing, which Reyenna ranked as the wisest decision she had seen the overseer make.

Zash turned to her. “What do you think, apprentice? Should I kill him?” 

There was a hunger in Zash’s eyes, almost as keen as the hunger Reyenna had felt from Khem Val. She had no doubt that if she asked for Harkun’s head, Zash would revel in delivering it.

“Let him live,” Reyenna said after a moment.

Both Zash and Harkun seemed surprised, and she felt the Dashade’s disapproval. Lest she appear weak, she decided to explain her verdict.

“Harkun now knows that he can’t cheat you,” she explained. “And if he tries to undermine you again, he knows that you will make him wish you had killed him today. That will make him your loyal servant in the future. Isn’t that right, Harkun?”

Harkun nodded vehemently. “Completely your servant, my Lord!” he exclaimed, falling to his knees before Zash.

“If you kill him,” Reyenna continued casually, “then you’ll just have to deal with the schemes of his replacement.” She cast a glance down at Harkun, trembling as he awaited Zash’s final judgment. “Besides, he’s actually not a bad teacher, for a place such as this. I will leave here knowing to always watch my back. Is there a more valuable lesson for a Sith to learn?”

Zash mulled it over, nodded.

“Get up, Harkun,” she sighed. “Seeing you grovel like that makes me want to do very nasty things.”

Harkun struggled to his feet. “My Lord.” He bowed.

Zash ignored him, flashing another grin at Reyenna.

“Come, my apprentice,” she said, extending her hand. “We have much to do.”

***

“We have a lot to do,” Cipher Nine sighed to Zarek. “We have to intercept your rival bounty hunter, stop Fa’athra’s egg purchase, and make sure Nem’ro doesn’t double-cross either of us.”

They were back at Braden’s suite in the Poison Pit Cantina. Nem’ro’s assistant, Juda, had transferred a data file to Cipher with all the information about the rancor egg deal. It was a comprehensive file – Nem’ro had obviously known about this transaction from the beginning. 

“Doubtless, he already had plans to sabotage it,” she observed. “But why risk his own agents, when he can extort us into doing it?”

Mako was ready with information of her own, this time about the target of the Trandoshan bounty hunter, Rarsk.

“The target's name is Albea,” she reported. “A Republic xenobiologist, recently attached to Taris. She’s been studying the rakghouls, working on a vaccine against their venom.”

Rakghouls were the dominant native species remaining on Taris – hulking beasts that attacked any living thing that crossed their paths. Their venom was highly toxic, but it didn’t kill its victims – It transformed them into rakghouls themselves.

“The Empire thinks the Republic intends to weaponize the venom,” Mako continued. “Immunize Republic citizens against it while preparing to spread it among the Empire.”

Cipher cut in. “Ridiculous paranoia,” she said. “My contacts tell me they’ve gotten exactly nowhere with the vaccine.” Had she been overseeing the op, she would not interfere in any way with the scientists’ efforts to find a vaccine. She would even have planted a top-level Imperial scientist to help with the effort… and to send back samples as they made progress. This bounty was foolish and short-sided. Probably the brainchild of some disgruntled Moff.

Zarek cast a knowing glance in her direction. “Your contacts, eh?” 

Cipher felt herself flush slightly. _Careless_. That wasn't like her.

Zarek smirked as he turned back to Mako. “So this scientist is staying here?”

“Right across the hall,” Mako confirmed. “She’s pretty much barricaded herself in her room. Her transport arrives tomorrow at 9 am, boards at 9:30. I don’t think she plans to set foot outside her door until she heads to the spaceport.”

“Which makes that the most likely window for Rarsk to make his move,” Zarek grunted. “You have ears on her room, in case he tries for her tonight?”

Mako nodded. “I’ll know the second he’s within a mile of the cantina.”

They decided to sleep in shifts, each taking a turn monitoring Albea’s room. Mako went first, then Zarek. When Cipher rose to relieve him, he told her to return to bed.

“Even after yesterday, you still don’t trust me,” she observed. “Why? What’s your problem with me?”

“I don’t like pirates,” he replied. “I _really_ don’t like pirates. But I like you, Blade. Why do you think that is?”

She settled into the couch next to him. “Must be my charming smile,” she said.

“By all accounts, The Red Blade is vicious. When The Blade takes prisoners, it’s to torture them before spacing them. Not for information – just for fun. Doesn’t sound much like someone who takes a minute to clear the top floor of a factory before blowing it. Or who jumps into a beast pit to rescue some bounty hunter she’s just met.”

“What can I say? I’m whimsical.” He grunted, continued to stare at her. “Well, it’s my shift,” she said. “I can’t make you go to bed, but I’m staying up either way.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Cipher synced her implants with Mako’s devices, monitoring the perimeter in the background.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. Zarek glanced at her. “Why the fixation with The Great Hunt?”

“Fame and fortune,” he said with a shrug. “Every bounty hunter who’s won a Hunt has gone on to glory and riches.”

“Sure,” she said. “But why jump through Nem’ro’s hoops to get into this Hunt? You’re good. You wait for the next one, you could spend the time lining up a sponsor who won’t drop you into a beast pit.”

He let out a long, weary sigh.

“Tell me if you recognize these names,” he said. “And no cheating and surfing the holonet with your implants.”

She raised her right hand. “Pirate’s honor,” she vowed.

“Jewl’a Nightbringer,” he said, ticking names off on his fingers. “Bloodworthy. The Defenestrator.”

She nodded at each name. “Everyone knows those names,” she said.

“How about Malek Thran?” he asked. “Or Marit’zta Cythee?”

She looked blank. He nodded meaningfully.

“Those first three?” he said. “All Great Hunt winners. The other two? They were just as good as Nightbringer or Bloodworthy. Better even. But they never got sponsored for The Great Hunt. And these days, only us veterans even remember their names.”

“You’re afraid that will be you,” she said.

“I’m not getting any younger,” he said. “I’m not as fast or as strong as I was at twenty. I’m a whole lot smarter, though – And I’m still fast and strong enough for that to make up the difference.” 

He rose, walked to the window. Stared out at the smog, visible even at night as it hung over the city.

“Braden, the man who rented this room?” he said. “Five years ago, he’d have killed the men who ambushed him without a thought. But he just wasn’t fast enough anymore.” He looked back at her, saw she was listening intently. “By the next Hunt, I won’t be able to say I’m at my peak. It’s this Hunt or nothing. My last chance to be someone people will remember.”

She nodded her understanding.

“You should get some sleep,” she told him. “My implants are monitoring everything here. I won’t let the Trandoshan come, or the target go, without waking you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. It was stiff.

“You’re right,” he admitted. He turned to the bedroom, then glanced back. “One more thing,” he said. “Your Corellian accent’s good, but it slips a little on the vowel sounds. I doubt Nem’ro noticed, but you might want to watch out for that.”

She sat on the couch, not reacting in any way. He grinned and gave a mock salute before withdrawing.

***

Mako’s sensors detected Rarsk entering the cantina the next morning, about two hours before Albea’s scheduled transport. The Trandoshan ordered some snacks and a synthesized fruit drink. He sat in a corner booth, baring his teeth at anyone who even thought of approaching him.

“Waiting for her to head out to the spaceport,” Zarek guessed. “Probably follow her when she leaves, pull her into an alley.”

“Is that how you’d do it?” Cipher asked.

“The bounty specifies dead,” Zarek replied. “I’m no assassin – I don’t take those jobs.”

“Your egg merchants are here,” Mako informed Cipher.

Cipher checked the implants. Sure enough, the man selling the rancor egg had arrived. A small-time hustler and sometime spice merchant named Getzo. Juda’s report indicated that he had spent months trying to get Nem’ro’s blessing for his various self-financed enterprises. When he proved beneath Nem’ro’s notice, he had sold out to Fa’athra.

“Showtime,” Cipher announced. “Can you handle Rarsk?”

“In my sleep,” Zarek said confidently. “Meet you at the spaceport.”

They left Braden’s suite. Zarek walked briskly out the door, taking care not to even glance at Rarsk. If the Trandoshan noticed him at all, he did an excellent job of hiding it.

Cipher lingered in the cantina, ordering some juice. She walked to Getzo’s table and sat opposite him. The idiot had the carbonite storage container out in the open, on the table in front of him.

“Hey, pretty.” His smile revealed teeth that were half-rotted from spice use. “Normally, I’d love to chat, but I’m waiting for someone.”

In a single, fluid motion, she drew a blade from her belt and pressed it against the man’s belly.

“Don’t say a word, Getzo,” she advised.

He stiffened. His eyes were practically popping out of their sockets.

“Today is your lucky day,” she said. “You have something Nem’ro wants, but he sent _me_ to collect it. That means you get to live, as long as you hand it over right now.”

Getzo gulped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

She pressed the blade forward, just a little bit. Just enough for him to feel its sharpness. His face went pale.

She inclined her head toward the storage container. “The egg, please.”

His eyes pleaded with her. “Fa’athra will kill me!” he protested.

“If he doesn’t, then Nem’ro will,” she said bluntly. “Your only chance is to get off Hutta on the next transport, and hope they’re too busy with each other to send anyone after you. What can I say? You should have stuck to small-time hustles.”

Getzo took a moment to consider his options. She could summon no pity for this pathetic parasite in human skin. Whether the Hutts pursued him or not, she fully expected him to be dead within six months.

He slid the egg over. “You’re a cold one, lady.”

She gave a thin, hard smile. “You have no idea,” she replied. “Now, I suggest you run.”

He got up from the table and walked quickly to the door. His wild eyes darted in all directions. She could see him break into a run before the cantina door had closed behind him.

She picked up the storage container. It was dense, and required most of her arm strength to hold it level. Getzo was too small-time to afford an antigrav unit, she reflected. If he had even thought of it. She doubted he had thought further ahead than the spice he would buy with his payday.

She carried her burden across the cantina and out the door. Fortunately, it was a short walk to Nem’ro’s Palace, but she would need to be alert for any potential robbery along the way.

***

Zarek picked an alley close to the cantina and settled on the ground, cross-legged. The cantina’s entrance was in his eye-line. He would see Albea’s approach, and would see Rarsk when he left to follow her. He ducked his head and let it loll a bit to the side. Anyone looking at him would assume he was high on spice.

It took less than an hour for Albea to appear. She looked anxious, and walked briskly toward the spaceport. Rarsk was a few feet behind her. She was clearly aware of him, and walked faster.

Trandoshans, however, have more speed than humans. Rarsk closed the gap in seconds, and shoved her into the alley.

“Hello, soft thing,” he snarled, pulling a knife. “Is nothing personal, but Empire has put great bounty on you.”

Albea held up her hands. “Stay back!” she cried.

Rarsk’s reptilian face grinned as he approached. He held his knife low, blade up.

“Be still,” he said. “This won’t hurt… much.”

“Oh, I think it might,” Zarek announced. He had pulled out his blaster while Rarsk approached, and now held it aimed at the back of the Trandoshan’s head. He glanced at Albea. “I’d run, if I were you. And don’t go anywhere else without guards to protect you.”

Albea nodded, stammering her thanks as she ran out of the alley.

“Is mistake to interfere with hunt,” Rarsk growled.

“Is big mistake,” Zarek agreed. “But you can live to hunt another day. Just hand over Nem’ro’s token.”

Rarsk turned around slowly, to face Zarek. He took in the Zabrak horns, the red skin, and laughed.

“You Zarek!” he realized. “Foolish bounty hunter who Nem’ro controls with false promises.”

Zarek ignored the insult. “You have three seconds to hand over the token,” he said.

“You are nothing,” Rarsk said. “Just another soft thing. I am Trandoshan, born to hunt!”

“One,” Zarek counted.

“Tarro Blood doesn’t want you in Great Hunt,” Rarsk continued. “Smart hunter would take the hint.”

“Two,” Zarek said.

“Is shame Tarro Blood must win. But just being in Hunt is great honor. Scorekeeper will award many points.”

“Three.”

The Trandoshan moved fast, lowering his head and barreling forward. It was almost fast enough.

But Zarek’s finger was already on the trigger. As the Trandoshan’s weight hit, he fired. Rarsk slumped. Zarek fired a second time, then shoved his rival’s body away from him.

He searched the corpse, and found the token. A simple coin, with Nem’ro’s hideous face stamped onto the front.

Mako’s voice came through his earpiece.

“That was close,” she observed.

“Closer than I’d like,” he acknowledged.

He remembered what he had told Cipher, about getting a little slower each year, and hoped it was not already too late.

***

Another meeting with Nem’ro, this one a quick one. He was pleased with the delivery of the rancor egg, and thus in a benevolent mood when Zarek appeared with his coin.

“You have my token,” Nem’ro announced, “and with it, my recognition as the most fearsome hunter on Hutta. From here, you go to Dromund Kaas. Shuttle passes for you and little Mako will be waiting at the spaceport.” He threw his spindly Hutt arms wide. “Go to the Great Hunt and spread the glory of Nem’ro the Hutt!”

Zarek left immediately after, to begin preparations for his departure. Cipher took her own leave of Nem’ro, returning to her quarters.

After a quick scan for listening devices, she activated her holo-communicator, and Keeper appeared before her. His expression was even graver than normal.

“I’m afraid your mission has become more complicated,” he told her. “There have been… unforeseen circumstances.”

Cipher braced herself for the worst. “Unforeseen circumstances” was basically Imperial Intelligence’s euphemism for “Sith.”

“Late last night,” Keeper told her, “Karrels Javis’s sons encountered a Sith apprentice in Imperial space. Details are unclear, but one son died and the other was crippled.”

Cipher swore aloud. “Sith,” she snapped, her frustration making her bitterness unmistakable.

She caught her indiscretion immediately, stopped herself from saying anything further.

“The Sith do what they will,” Keeper said. “We don’t control them, and we don’t pass judgment on them. That doesn’t mean we obey them without question… But we phrase those questions carefully, and we bide our time.”

Which was more than he should have said. Clearly, he was frustrated as well.

“I apologize, sir.” Not for her bitterness, but for potentially exposing both herself and Keeper with her indiscretion.

Keeper turned back to business. “Obviously, we will no longer be able to use Karrels to get to Nem’ro. Once he learns of today’s events, his sympathy for the Empire will evaporate. So we will have to improvise. First, we need to put Karrels out of the way. Immediately.”

“Is there no other way?”

“It’s unfortunate,” Keeper said briskly, “but it’s the only way to proceed. Nem’ro is already expecting retaliation from Fa’athra, so we will use that. Program a security spike with Republic jamming protocols, and use it to deactivate the security devices in Karrels’s office. Make sure to leave the spike.”

“So when Nem’ro’s people investigate, it will look like the Republic helped Fa’athra kill Karrels,” she observed.

It was a good plan. Not as elegant as their original strategy – This was a patch-up job, after all – but it tracked. With Fa’athra’s mining operations disrupted and his financial accounts crashed, he would lack resources to get his revenge directly. It would be easy for Nem’ro to conclude that his rival had turned to the Republic for help.

She acknowledged Keeper’s instructions, then ended the conversation. She spent the next thirty minutes reprogramming a security spike with the latest Republic jamming protocols.

Her next step was her least favorite type of mission: the assassination of a man who considered her a friend. All thanks to the Sith, and their ability to scatter the most carefully laid plans with their temper tantrums.

She reflected, not for the first time, that the Empire would be unstoppable… If only they could get rid of the Sith.


	8. A Change of Plans

Cipher used her implant to tap into Nem’ro’s security feed. Karrels Javis was in his office. She then walked through the cantina to the staff area. By this point, she had been seen with Karrels often enough to go unchallenged.

As she entered his office, she heard him snoring. She considered killing him in his sleep. It would be kind; he would never know what had happened. But it didn’t seem appropriate. Given the choice, she felt certain that he would want to face his end.

She pulled her blaster, then woke him.

“What?” He was foggy, and it took a moment for him to focus on her. “Blade?”

Then he noticed the gun, and the sleep faded.

“I’m sorry, Karrels.” She dropped the Corellian accent, allowing her crisp and precise Imperial speech patterns to come through. “You deserve better than this.”

Usually, people who knew they were about to die reacted with fear or anger, pleas or threats. He did neither, taking her in calmly.

“You’re not The Red Blade,” he said.

“No. I am Cipher Nine, with Imperial Intelligence. My mission is to steer Nem’ro’s sympathies toward the Empire.”

“Then why kill me?”

“Remember when you told me your sons were in Imperial space?” she asked. “I told you they should be fine, as long as they were careful of the Sith?”

He became very still.

“Your sons had a run-in with a Sith,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe they weren’t respectful enough. Maybe they were too respectful, and he became annoyed. Maybe he was just in a bad mood.”

“My sons are dead.” His voice was heavy.

“One of them survived,” she said. “He was injured, but he’s being transported back here. Even so, it’s clear that any sympathies you may have had for us…” She trailed off.

“Why tell me this?” he asked. “I was asleep. You could have just shot me.”

She forced a smile. “I thought you would want to know why. I am sorry, Karrels.”

His face flushed. “That’s Mr. Javis,” he gritted. “And to hell with you.”

“Fair enough.” 

She fired. Surprise flickered in his eyes. Then he fell.

She put away the blaster, then inserted the spike into the security system and let it run. Scrubbing the security recordings, deleting every trace of her.

The mission was done. She cast a last, regretful look at Karrels Javis’s corpse, then turned to leave.

Kaliyo Djannis stood in the doorway, blaster drawn and leveled at her chest.

“I knew you were trouble,” she said.

Speaking was a mistake. The words took an ounce of Kaliyo's concentration - just enough for Cipher to lash out with a kick. The blaster went flying across the room.

Cipher drew her blade. Kaliyo grinned, drawing one of her own. “Let’s dance,” the Rattataki said, making a beckoning motion.

Cipher lunged. Kaliyo pivoted in time, but not without getting a cut on her forearm. 

Cipher’s wrist transmitter activated. Keeper’s voice came through.

“Hold, both of you.” He spoke with such absolute authority, even Kaliyo stopped. “Violence may not be necessary.”

Reluctantly, Cipher lowered her weapon long enough to activate the holo device. Keeper’s image filled the room.

Kaliyo raised one bare eyebrow. “What’s this, now?”

“We know who you are, Kaliyo Djannis. Imperial Intelligence has followed your activities for some time”

Kaliyo folded her arms. “But you were never able to catch me.”

“Do not flatter yourself,” Keeper told her. “You live because you were never a target. Even when you worked with anarchist groups on Rattatak and Brental Four, it was clear you had skills that could one day be of use to us.”

“Are you offering me a job?” The incredulity in Kaliyo’s voice matched Cipher’s own reaction.

“Precisely,” Keeper said. “Agree, and you will became a well-paid servant of the Empire.”

“Killing her would be easier,” Cipher said. “I could leave the blaster on her, make it look like she killed Karrels. No loose ends.”

Kaliyo went back into a defensive stance. “You could try,” she snapped.

“Stop!” Keeper snapped.

Both women turned back to him.

“This operation is over,” he told Cipher. “Nem’ro’s men will analyze the spike, and will conclude that Fa’athra turned to the Republic after his setbacks of the past 24 hours. Kaliyo, you will be the obvious suspect, leaving Hutta with a large transfer of credits at the same time Karrels is found dead. You may find yourself targeted by the Hutts in the future.”

Kaliyo scoffed. “The Hutts don’t scare me.”

“With Nem’ro fearing Repubic support for Fa’athra, he will turn to the Empire,” Keeper continued. “In all likelihood, Fa’athra will then actually turn to the Republic. We should be able to maintain an effective quagmire, with Nem’ro on top – but never so much on top that he stops needing us. A perfect result.”

He took in the two of them, his gaze severe.

“The two of you are to report to Dromund Kaas. I expect both of you to be alive and uninjured when you arrive. Is that clear?”

With a glare at Kaliyo, Cipher agreed.

“Then I suggest you leave separately, but immediately. Rendezvous at the spaceport, and travel together – _together_ , mind you – to Dromund Kaas. Now, go. Before any of Nem’ro’s people come in and make things messy. Keeper out.”

***

At Jiguuna Spaceport, Cipher ran into one more unwelcome surprise. She picked up the passes that would allow her and Kaliyo transport to Dromund Kaas. Passes under the name “The Red Blade.”

As she turned into the hangar, she was intercepted by a figure in full body armor, flanked by two rough-looking men. Pirates, obviously.

“So, you’re the pretender calling herself ‘The Red Blade.’ ” A male voice, dripping with scorn.

Out of the corner of her eye, she checked what Kaliyo was doing. Would she run? Join the pirates in ambushing her?

Kaliyo was tensing for a fight, easing a hand toward her blaster. Apparently, Keeper’s offer was good enough to have bought her loyalty, at least for the moment.

“I _am_ The Red Blade,” Cipher replied, matching the man’s scorn with her own. “I earned my name.”

The man was taken aback, as she had hoped. An extra couple of seconds purchased.

“ _I’m_ The Red Blade!” he shouted, indignant. “The real one!” 

Touchy, Cipher reflected. Maybe she could push him even further off-balance.

“Prove you’re The Red Blade,” she challenged him.

He stared at her, astonished. One more second. Cipher reached for her belt.

Before either she or Kaliyo had a chance to draw their weapons, three shots rang out. The Red Blade and his men fell dead at their feet.

Zarek Voss and Mako emerged from the hangar entrance, both holding blasters.

Zarek looked mournfully at the Blade’s body. “1.2 million credits, eh?” Mako nodded confirmation. “And no time to collect. What a waste.”

Cipher was astonished.

“I was so late, I'd have thought you'd go without me,” she said.

Zarek shrugged. “We said we'd meet at the spaceport. I like to keep my word. Besides, Mako heard some chatter that the real Red Blade was coming to Hutta. I figured things might get complicated." He glanced at Kaliyo. “Interesting company you’re keeping.”

Cipher laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

She dropped the Corellian accent. It had never fooled him anyway, and it was a relief to speak in her own voice.

She extended a hand. “Cipher Nine, Imperial Intelligence,” she said, officially introducing herself.

He nodded, digesting the information with no sign of surprise.

“Well,” he said. “Looks like we’ll be sharing a transport to Dromund Kaas. We might just have a few things to talk about.”

**NEXT: LUNATICS ON BOTH SIDES**


End file.
